


Atlas

by TheHoardingPuffin



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is a Saint, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson-centric, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Has Anger Issues, Jason Todd Has a Heart, Podfic Welcome, Post-Prison, Sick Dick Grayson, Sickfic, and issues in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHoardingPuffin/pseuds/TheHoardingPuffin
Summary: Dick was deadly pale, still covered in sweat and he was mumbling under his breath, too low for any of them to understand it properly. He was covered in bruises. Jason took a deep breath, swallowing down the anger. This was his brother, dammit! Part of Jason wanted to run back to the prison, find out who did this and beat them to pulp.Or: Jason hears that Dick was arrested and decides to do something about it.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 7
Kudos: 205





	Atlas

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks!  
> So, I still have (and always will have) Jason Todd and Dick Grayson related feelings, so I wrote this. It's essentially an AU of sorts of the prison arc from Titans, Season 2 and it's also a semi-sequel to my Oneshot "Achilles", but you can read either without the other.  
> I hope you like it - comments and kudos are always well-appreciated and food for the heart and soul.  
> Loads of love!  
> Lotta

Jason wasn’t quite sure what to think anymore. He just felt oddly… numb… as he stared down at the News alert that had popped up on his phone.

_Wayne-Ward Richard Grayson arrested for assaulting officer at airport._

What. The. Fuck?

What the ever-loving… _what_ had gotten into Dick that he had done that?!

Sure, yeah, Jason and Dick had had their differences and shit, and sure, Dick could be hot-headed and a jerk (but so could Jason honestly), but… this was unlike him. And Jason had seen Dick in action. A shitton of times, on video _and_ in real life.

He had seen the force and impact of Dick striking down, had fought _against_ him in training fights for heaven’s sake – but there was a distinct difference between Dick fighting a fight that was at least mildly necessary (and he usually did this under the mask, never without) and Dick assaulting someone in brought daylight and as himself.

Something had happened, clearly, something so bad it drove Dick Grayson to such drastic measures, but Jason couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what that could have been. The Titans were, essentially, history – scattered into the winds – and God knew where Deathstroke… was…

“Fuck.”

Jason took a deep breath.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck.”

Another deep breath.

What to do – _whattodowhatodowhatodo_ – what to do?!

He could just pretend he knew nothing. He could go on with Rose – busting drug rings and breaking into fancy rich people’s houses – and pretend he knew nothing at all. Technically, since the Titans were history, this was no longer Jason’s beer to sip anyways. None of his business. Dick got himself into trouble? Fine. But, the thing was… Jason still cared. He had looked up to Dick – to Robin – for ages, the idiot had been his _idol_ – he was his brother, damn it!

Jason could never forget Dick’s face when Jason’s hand had slipped out if his grasp. He would never forget the wide eyes, pale face when Dick had arrived at the bottom of the building, the breathless _Are you okay?_ uttered half in shock. He would never forget how safe Dick had felt to him the night at the tower, when Jason had been half out of his mind from sleep deprivation and panicked flashbacks, and right on the way to smash the bones in his hands into shards on the sandbag.

With one thumb, Jason picked at the scab over his knuckles.

They hadn’t had a great start, or a great relationship overall, but for what it was worth, they were family now. _That’s what family does_ , Dick had told him that night. _They help each other_.

Jason looked at his phone again. He hadn’t swiped away the alert yet.

_Wayne-Ward Richard Grayson arrested for assaulting officer at airport._

He tapped onto the pop-up. The webpage opened and under the headline was a screen-capture of a security tape. Dick, kneeling, hands behind his head, staring ahead stoically, with a collapsed police officer lying at the side, clutching his stomach.

Jason sighed. Looked over to the glass terrace door, to the bed island next to the pool where Rose was fast asleep, silver hair sprawled out around her face.

Jason bit his lip, thought about it.

He could stay. He could.

Or he could do the right thing. _Family helps each other_.

Stay – go – stay – go –

Jason cursed under his breath, grabbed his things, shoved them into his bag and, in a small hunch of bad conscience, wrote a note for Rose, then he walked out. While walking, he pulled out his phone and searched for a specific name in his contacts.

Three rings, then – _“Master Todd?”_

“I… I need help, uh… it’s about Dick.”

The car ride was… uncomfortable, to say the least. Uncomfortably quiet. Alfred was driving, and Jason and Bruce were in the back, not looking at each other, not speaking.

Well – Bruce wasn’t looking. Jason was, his eyes kept flickering over to his adopted father, taking in the stiff posture, the tight jaw…

Miraculously, when Jason had called, the news hadn’t yet reached Bruce. It hadn’t taken longer than half an hour and a few short phone calls for them to be on their way.

Jason had tried to explain to Bruce what had happened, but Bruce has shut him down, told him to tell him everything in the car. But then, throughout the car right, he had notoriously ignored Jason – and now they were almost there.

At the prison.

A few more minutes, then the car came to a halt. Finally, Bruce looked at Jason.

“So… what happened, then?”

Jason took a deep breath and started retelling the tale, beginning with Doctor Light, then his ridiculous single-act in the tunnels, Slate, Jason’s fall, Conner, his breakdown – and finally, Dick’s confession.

Bruce listened silently – then sighed deeply and ran a hand over his face, mumbling something.

Jason swallowed nervously. “So… yeah. That’s… pretty much it.”

Bruce nodded. “Alright. Can’t say I understand at all what is going on, but… alright.”

“ _Alright_? What does _that_ mean?” Jason wanted to bite his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth – damn impulsivity – but Bruce barely seemed to notice it, already getting out of the car. Jason hurried to follow him.

The building was cold and dark and clammy, and Jason crossed his arms uncomfortably. Bruce talked to the people in charge, explaining everything, handing over paperwork – how the hell had he gotten that done so quickly? – while Jason just stood there and eyed the officers suspiciously. One of them has a sort-of bulldog face, very uncomfortable, and he sneered when he heard the name _Richard Grayson_. Jason decided he did not like that one.

Unfortunately, _that one_ was the guy to lead them to the correct cell. Not on the normal cell block, but somewhere entirely else.

“Why isn’t he with the other prisoners?”, Jason asked.

“He helped bust out two men a few nights ago. We put him in solitary.”

Jason stared at him in disbelief and almost stumbled over his own feet. He noticed Bruce’s side glance, but they kept following the guard to a cement cell with a solid iron door that was quickly unlocked.

“Step right in.” There was a slimy grin on the face of the guard that made Jason want to slam his teeth in. “He might be… sort of out of service though.”

Jason curled his hands into fists. Bruce still displayed perfect control and calm to the outside (though Jason could see the twitch of his mouth) and walked into the cell. Jason followed – and tripped over a metallic tray. There was a small paper sign on it – and a plate. And on the plate – a dull scratched metallic one – was a small black cadaver.

“That’s a rat!”, Jason whispered in disgust. “That… that’s…”

Bruce didn’t look at him, or the rat for that matter. He was over by the small slit in the wall that let in the light – where Dick was curled up on the floor. Jason froze, then his eyes darted around the room, taking in the barren cell and the remains of a simple metallic bed by the wall – had Dick shoved it over there? Or rather, thrown, probably…

Jason tore himself out of his thoughts and hurried over to the wall, where Bruce was checking over Dick and attempted to shake him awake.

Dick was pale, Jason noticed, and his face was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Under his eyelids, his eyes were darting around. He was dreaming – probably a nightmare.

Great. The idiot was sick.

Jason dug his blunt nails against the insides of his hands to keep himself from throwing a fit and screaming at the guards and just about everyone in the place because why the hell was a sick man alone in a cold cell without medical care? Jason didn’t need anyone to answer the question. He knew the system. He knew how much it sucked.

Hell, he had seen worse all over Gotham – but this was different. This was personal.

Jason took a deep breath. His hands hurt.

Bruce picked up Dick without greater difficulty and carried him out of the prison and to the car. Jason was the one to pick up Dick’s stuff, the things he had been arrested with. A duffel bag and a bundle of extra clothes, nothing more.

Alfred had already powered on the engine, ready to get out of here and back home.

Dick was laying on his back, out cold still in the back of the car, his head in Bruce’s lab. Jason sat on the front seat next to the butler, but turned back as much as he could so he could observe the whole situation back there. He was clutching onto Dick’s duffel bag with all his strength, because he knew if he let go, he’d slip. Right now – holding onto something – he was still in control.

His nails had already left deep red indentures in his hands.

Dick was deadly pale, still covered in sweat and he was mumbling under his breath, too low for any of them to understand it properly. He was still in his prisoner’s garb, Jason noticed – blue pants, blue shirt, blue simple fabric slip-on shoes. There were bruises on Dick’s arms, his chest, Jason could see glimpses through the v-neck of the shirt, and on his face. Some of them yellow, some blue and red and purple. They blended in with the dark circles under Dick’s eyes.

Jason took a deep breath, swallowing down the anger.

This was his brother, dammit! His brother, who had been hurt like this. Part of Jason wanted to jump out of the driving car, run back to the prison, find out who did this – the one with the slimy grin had been one of them for sure – and beat them to pulp.

Instead, he looked back, watched Bruce gently carding through Dick’s sweat-soaked hair, watched the deep frown on Bruce’s face and Dick’s face twitch into a pained grimace in his fevered sleep before his expression turned somewhat more relaxed again.

Dick still had a room at the Manor. It had been left undisturbed, and Jason had been in there only once – in his first night, when he hadn’t been able to sleep anyways.

He had been curious about the whole Manor, Dick’s room just had been closest to his own. He had picket the lock (and wondered why the room was locked in the first place) and snuck in. In the pale yellow light of his flash light he had looked around the room. It didn’t look too different from his own – a large bed, a tall wooden wardrobe, a writing desk and chair by the window, a pretty rug on the floor. But different to his room, this one had looked _lived in_. A big rectangular spot that had been darker than the rest of the wall – whatever had hung there, the former owner of the room had taken it with them; the handful photograph pinned to the wall, a photo of a boy, maybe fifteen, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, grinning wide, and of Bruce, who had an arm wrapped around the boy, giving the camera a sliver of a smile, a knitted cover on the bed, and a beaten-up plush elephant.

All those things were still there now, when they brought Dick up and to bed. He hadn’t woken up once during the ride home, and it worried all three of them.

Alfred got right to work, getting the needed medical equipment from the cave downstairs, and Jason busied himself by going through Dick’s duffel bag, pulling out a shirt and sweatpants. Quickly, he changed his brother out of the sweat-soaked prison attire and into the clean things, then he and Bruce tugged him back under the covers.

Bruce had yet to speak a word. He hadn’t said anything – apart from hushed, mumbled nothings in the car when Dick had whimpered in his sleep – since they had left the prison. Though Jason had been uncharacteristically quiet, himself…

“They gave him a rat”, he said now, lowly. Bruce nodded ever so slightly.

“A _rat_ ”, Jason repeated. “For food. On a _tray_!”

Bruce looked up from his first son to his second. “I know, Jason.”

Jason took a deep breath so he wouldn’t scream. “I’m gonna kill them.”

“No you won’t.”

“I _might_!”

“That would be most unwise”, Alfred said, re-entering the room and getting to work, professionally administering an IV into Dick’s arm to supply him with fluids and nutrients.

“Though I would almost be inclined to join in on that… sort of endeavour”, the butler continued, under his breath.

Under other circumstances, this would have made Jason grin. Now, he just sat down on the end of Dick’s bed and looked at him, chewing on his lower lip. Somehow this felt like it was, a tiny bit, his fault.

All the Titan’s fault, probably.

And Wilson’s fault, more than anything else.

In his sleep, Dick twitched, moved his head to the side and whispered something Jason couldn’t hear.

Bruce stayed for a while, sitting beside Dick, one hand in his hair. Jason sat down next to him, leaning against Bruce’s side, and his adopted father was quick to wrap an arm around the younger one and pull him closer.

Alfred fussed around for a while, then announced he’d go ahead and cancel all of Bruce’s appointments for the coming days and call in Dr. Thompkins to check up on Dick as soon as she could make time. When it was time for dinner, he brought up a tray of food for himself, Bruce and Jason, and a new IV bag for Dick. Jason mused on how much of a good spirit Alfred actually was. He busied himself and got shit done that needed to be done. Meanwhile Bruce seemed incapable of leaving his chair, and to be fair, Jason didn’t leave Dick’s side either, not one second.

He ignored the text messages from Rose. He ignored Bruce’s suggestion that he should go rest in his own room. Instead, he stayed, watching over Dick as the night fell and as Bruce fell asleep in his chair. Carefully, Jason moved away from Bruce’s hug and instead made himself comfortable at the end of the bed, busying himself by going through Dick’s things. He hadn’t been arrested with much. A few sets of clothing, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, a small bag with Band-Aids and low-level pain medication, his wallet, his old laptop, his phone and the charging cables for both.

The duffel had been packed for travel, he realized, and a crumpled-up flight ticket to Greenland confirmed this a minute later.

The puzzle started constructing itself.

For some reason, Dick had wanted to get far away – maybe from Deathstroke, maybe from the general area… maybe from the Titans? Jason didn’t know, but it would make sense. Maybe Dick had thought if he got himself locked up that would keep the other Titans safe? Safe from a fate like Jason’s had almost been – or safe from Dick and a fate like Jericho’s.

Again, Jason didn’t know. But either would make sense, in an odd, twisted way. It was certainly not unlike Dick to get himself locked up in a prison to protect his family…

Jason sighed, climbed off the bed and plugged Dick’s phone in to charge. He put the clothes onto the chair, the laptop on the desk and the duffel on the ground next to the wardrobe.

Then, he climbed back onto the bed and waited.

Eventually he fell asleep.

He woke up from Dick moving around in bed, kicking and throwing his head from side to side, groaning and whimpering in his sleep.

Bruce was awake, holding Dick’s arms down to minimize the risk of injury, and yeah, okay, that was smart, probably, but Jason had a distinct feeling that this was not the right way of dealing with a nightmare-ish Dick Grayson. He thought about the night at the tower, how Dick had held him after his panic attack in the training room.

“Move”, he told Bruce, crawled to the top end of the bed and quickly maneuverer himself next to Dick, grabbing him around the torso and hugging him to his chest, holding him tightly enough that the older Robin couldn’t move around. Slowly, the groans changed into half-choked sobs, the thrashing into trembling.

Jason ignored the odd look from Bruce in favour of running a hand up and down Dick’s arm and taking over-exaggerated deep breaths that he felt Dick mimic in half-consciousness. And then, with a shuddering gasp, Dick woke up. Jason loosened his grasp and helped Dick to sit up, never leaving direct contact for even a second.

“Hey, hey it’s okay”, he said, and finally Bruce jumped back into action, gently taking Dick’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently.

Dick was still feverish and panicked, eyes wide and glossy, breath uneven, but he at least recognized them both and didn’t try to fight them or anything.

“It’s okay, Dick”, Jason said, again. “Breathe, c’mon, or you’ll choke.”

“You’re home now, Dick”, Bruce whispered. “You’re safe.”

Dick nodded, accepting the words (though Jason doubted he believed them fully – he probably thought this was a dream or some shit) and letting himself be lowered into the pillows again. Jason cuddled closer to him without a second thought, hoped he could imitate the feeling from that one night when their roles had been reversed.

Bruce pulled the blanket over them both, ran a hand through Dick’s hair and squeezed Jason’s hand, and soon enough, the two Robins fell asleep again.


End file.
